


Angles of Thought

by ScarecrowLullaby



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Caretaker Sherlock Holmes, Caring Sherlock Holmes, Cranky John, Fluff, Hurt John Watson, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Short & Sweet, Surprised John Watson, Surprises, injured
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 13:05:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16137848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarecrowLullaby/pseuds/ScarecrowLullaby
Summary: After being shot in the knee, John struggles to function on his own. Sherlock, of course, thinks he knows the best way to help him recover.





	Angles of Thought

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teewritesthings (mischiefmaker15)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischiefmaker15/gifts).



> I LIVE! I haven't posted anything in ages, but I hope you guys will forgive me! This was written for a friend of mine over on deviantart, but I thought you guys would like to see it, too. As always, comments and kudos are much appreciated. I love to hear your feedback. Enjoy the story!

“If you stand up that way you’re going to fa-” Sherlock’s condescending words were cut off by John swearing and failing to catch himself on the arm of the sofa. A sigh, and then a rustling of fabric as Sherlock squatted beside the man. “Fall. I understand not listening to the foolish babbling of hospital doctors, but, come now, John. Have I ever been wrong?” 

John chose not to answer the question, and instead pushed himself up into a sitting position. His left knee throbbed painfully. If his limp hadn’t been bad enough before being shot, it would be impossible to miss now. Even with physical therapy, the doctors were certain he would have a rough go of it with this injury. 

“Are you going to crouch there looking smug, or are you bloody going to help me off of this floor?” 

A small smirk crept over the corner’s of Sherlock’s mouth and he swiftly snaked an arm around John’s waist, hauling him up without warning. Not giving John time to protest, the genius picked him up briefly, ensuring he avoided the man’s bad knee, and deposited him on the couch. 

“Stay put,” Sherlock commanded, leaving the room with a swish of his trenchcoat and the sound of purposeful footsteps.

“Stay put? Stay put! Sherlock, I am not a bloody dog! You-you can’t just order me around!” John’s words were hollow. Try as he might to protest, he really did not feel he could afford another venture off of the couch. 

Clanking sounds started drifting to across the flat from the kitchen, raising curiosity from John. Sherlock did not cook. If that’s what was going on in the kitchen, John would shoot himself in the other knee and drag himself in there to watch. He would have known by now, though, surely there would have been smoke pouring from the room by now. No, Sherlock was definitely not cooking.

“Oi! Are you dissecting a corpse in there or something?” John’s curiosity was beginning to get the better of him. The longer Sherlock was gone, the stronger the desire to attempt walking became.

He didn’t have to wait much longer for his answer, though. Only a few moments later, Sherlock emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray. A fresh pot of tea, a mug, and a plate with toast and jam were placed helter-skelter across its surface. The toast wasn’t burned. 

“You made toast?” The harsh, impatient tone from before was gone. John’s words had gone soft.

“Well, you certainly weren’t capable of doing it.” Sherlock quipped, setting the tray on the coffee table. 

“I could have -” John started to retort, but cut himself off when he saw the vulnerability in Sherlock’s stance. Eyes focused on the tray, hands idly adjusting the items to have a somewhat more tidy, organized appearance. “Thank you.”

They sat in silence while John ate. Though he hadn’t had much of an appetite since being shot, it felt good to have something, even just toast, in his stomach. The tea helped chase the chill from his limbs, too. 

“Does it hurt?” Sherlock asked out of the blue.

“My leg?”

“No,” the other rolled his eyes. “Your incredibly dull personality.”

“I’ll remember that the next time you drag me out of bed at two in the morning to chase some criminal.” John took a long sip of his tea. “Yes,” he finally answered. “It hurts quite a lot.”

Silence fell once more and John switched on the telly while he finished off his tea. He hadn’t noticed Sherlock rise from his chair until the man stood directly in front of him.  
“Yes?” John sighed, tilting his head back to meet the other’s eyes.

Sherlock dipped his head, moving it closer to John’s. It wasn’t an entirely uncommon event, so the medic wasn’t phased by it. He’d learned to just allow the examination and carry on with things after Sherlock had finished. 

“I’m… I apologize for you getting shot while assisting me, John.” Sherlock’s eyes left John’s briefly, only to return after a moment. “I did not mean for you to get hurt. I.. I never want you to get injured.” 

John didn’t know what to say. He set his mug aside and just stared silently at Sherlock, opening and closing his mouth without forming words between.  
Using John’s silence to his advantage, Sherlock leaned forward and gently pressed their lips together. He brought his hand up, thumb gently stroking John’s face, and, before John could react, Sherlock retreated. 

“Forgive me, John. I should have protected you.”

“I forgive you.” John’s words were uncertain, but he covered Sherlock’s hand with his own, smiling for the first time since being shot.


End file.
